


A Little Knowledge Is A Dangerous Thing

by JinxedAmbitions



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Friends to Lovers, Geralt needs a friend, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Past Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Professor Jaskier, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:15:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22533103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JinxedAmbitions/pseuds/JinxedAmbitions
Summary: Raising a teenage girl is never easy, but raising a brilliant one who wants to attend one of the most prestigious universities on the Continent at sixteen is a bit much even for Geralt to handle.  Yennefer is less concerned, or maybe it’s just one last parting shot in the divorce that makes her agree to pay for Ciri’s education because they all know Geralt can't afford it.  Perhaps everything would have turned out just fine if Ciri didn’t decide to take a class on monster lore from the Continent’s foremost expert, Professor Julian Alfred Pankratz.  But destiny is rarely neat.Centuries of life didn't prepare Geralt for dealing with Ciri growing up away from him, killing monsters, and rescuing wayward professors all in the same week.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 63
Kudos: 354





	1. Baggage

Geralt grunted as he placed the last of Ciri’s belongings on the floor of her dorm room. Looking around, he wasn’t sure how any of them were getting out of the room because there was no room to move in the too small room. There hadn’t been a hell of a lot of essentials when he’d pack up the truck. They’d gone shopping a few times over the last few weeks, buying things like bed linens, soap, and towels that weren’t completely threadbare. 

Then Yennefer had shown up with enough items to strain the hauling capacity of Roach. Geralt wasn’t sure what she could have bought Ciri that would require so much space, but he wasn’t going to argue with her. They argued about plenty of things, but if she wanted to spoil Ciri, he wasn’t going to stop her. Ciri deserved the world in his eyes, and he rarely had enough money to buy her birthday presents never mind give her everything she could possibly want for.

Ciri never complained. Though her family had been wealthy before she’d come to live with Geralt, she never asked for more than he had to give. She’d slept rough with him more times than he’d like to admit, while he was hunting down monsters. What she often referred to as camping trips had little in common with the recreation that most families took part in, but she looked forward to it with the same enthusiasm. In fact, she’d begged to go on one last trip before leaving for school, which she’d invited Yennefer along for. It _had_ been a nice parting trip.

Yennefer was now pacing around the small single dorm which she’d dropped extra money on because in her words, _Ciri shouldn’t be forced to endure the companionship of lesser beings_. Geralt assumed what she actually meant was that she didn’t trust anyone to live with their daughter. However, Yennefer’s disdain for humanity almost rivaled her protective streak when it came to Ciri, so it was a toss up.

“This might as well be a closet.” Yennefer opened the actual closet door and made a face that seemed as though she’d discovered a decomposing corpse in it. In actuality, what she found was a wall of drawers rather than a full length closet. “How is she supposed to store dresses?”

“The other side is full length,” Ciri piped up, opening up the other closet door.

Yennefer’s look of horror didn’t diminish at all. “How is anyone to live like this?”

“It’s a college dorm. What were you expecting?” Geralt asked, opening the box labeled bedding and pulling out the extra-long sheets he’d had to buy. As soon as he’d learned that there were specific types of sheets for college beds, he’d decided the whole thing was a sham. However, Ciri’s heart was set on this sham, so he’d kept his mouth closed.

“With what I’m shelling out for this hovel, I was expecting a little more than _this_. I slept in pig pens nicer than this when I was your age.” She said it with so much disdain that even Ciri frowned where she was hovering, trying to help Geralt in any way she could. 

“It’s college, Yen. Living in an overpriced dump builds character or something,” Geralt said, digging around in the unlabeled boxes for bedding. He could smell the industrial disinfectant they’d used on the mattress, and he wanted to smother it as soon as possible.

“I could ench—”

“No magic,” Geralt cut her off. 

“It’s okay, Yennefer. I don’t mind the room,” Ciri assured her, before giving Geralt a small smile. They’d wagered about whether Yennefer would try to use magic on the room while they were packing. Ciri had won.

“Here, take this,” Geral said, ignoring Yennefer as he handed over the threadbare quilt he’d packed for Ciri’s bed. She’d clung to the old blanket for months after she’d come to live with him, and even now she always kept it at the foot of her bed. Then she’d wrap herself in it when she was feeling down—a reminder of the family she’d lost.

“Oh, no! What are those?” Yennefer asked, pointing to the sheets that Geralt was shaking out. 

Geralt gave her a look rather than bothering to answer her question. 

“Absolutely not. I packed sheets. _Good_ sheets, not some thrift store reject you picked up at a big box store. Ciri, do you want silk or Egyptain cotton?” Yennefer asked, gliding over to one of the many boxes she’d supplied.

Geralt grunted as he watched Yennefer remove several sets of rich looking sheets. He wished he’d known she would be buying all of these things before he spent what little savings he had purchasing it all. It wasn’t like paying jobs were in abundance these days with most people not realizing monsters still existed. 

“I think cotton will be fine,” Ciri said, glancing at Geralt with wide eyes. 

Geralt could just imagine her having silk sheets on her tiny dorm room bed. As if being the youngest student on campus wouldn’t be bad enough, that would certainly make her stand out.

Dropping the meager sheets he’d brought, Geralt went and helped Yennefer make up Ciri’s bed while Ciri began to go through the other things that Yennefer had brought for her. Geralt’s boxes were left forgotten in the corner.

Geralt kept his remarks to himself as they unpacked the many items Yennefer had bought. He knew that Yennefer obviously cared that Ciri would live comfortably even if she wouldn’t be living with them. Yen wasn’t just spoiling their daughter to get back at him, but the divide in what they supplied for Ciri was as clear as day.

There was an abundance of food that could easily be made in the dorm’s meager kitchen facility. There were pillows and blankets, new clothes, toiletries that looked more expensive than Geralt’s monthly rent. She’d packed enough feminine hygiene products that Geralt was pretty sure that Ciri would be set for the rest of her natural life, but he wasn’t going to mention that to Yennefer as that was still a sore subject after centuries. 

“What are these?” Geralt asked, opening a box filled with more condoms than a human could possibly use in a year’s time without serious injury. 

“She’s a sixteen year old human. She should be prepared,” Yennefer said.

Geralt blinked at her slowly. “She’s sixteen.”

“I just said that.”

“She shouldn’t—”

“Don’t suddenly become a prude now, Geralt.”

“She is—”

“Please stop talking about my theoretical sex life while I’m in the room,” Ciri cut in, looking horrified. 

Geralt sighed, and turned to open a different box. He prayed that it was filled with notebooks and pencils or something equally innocuous. When he found it filled with disposable plates and cups, he breathed a sigh of relief.

“Maybe a thousand is a little too much,” Ciri said, looking around the room which was rapidly running out of space to store things. 

"I don't know. Geralt and—"

"First, gross. I don't want to know about my parents' weird sex life. Second, neither of you are exactly human. And lastly, neither of you use condoms. Geralt had to look up how to put one on when I asked him what they were. And also, _gross_."

Geralt tried to hold in his amusement, but Ciri's scrunched up expression told him he was doing a poor job of it.

Yennefer frowned, but she took a handful of condoms and put them into the drawer that was already overflowing with tampons and pads. “Fine, but you will let me know the minute you need more. Don’t trust human men. If their mouth is open, it is spilling lies. And their cocks are full of rancid diseases.”

Geralt grunted. Ciri looked more traumatized than when he’d had to explain how periods worked not two months after she’d come to live with him. They’d survived a lot in four years together, and he wasn’t sure what he was going to do with himself now that she’d be living away. He supposed that he’d return to the Path despite the dwindling number of monsters.

“Don’t forget, you can call any time, and I’ll come,” Yennefer promised as Geralt picked up the last of the empty packing boxes to bring back down to his truck. He could just imagine Yennefer portaling into a college party to pick Ciri up. He really wasn’t sure either of them were ready to let Ciri go off on her own, but he’d been unable to deny her request to study at Oxenfurt either. 

“Yen, let’s get going,” Geralt said, glancing at the ornate clock that Yennefer had hung over Ciri’s desk. Ciri had an orientation to get to, and if they stayed she’d likely never get rid of them. If they left now, they’d bicker in the truck on the ride home then probably fall into bed to distract themselves from their dispair, and then they’d go their separate ways until Family Weekend when they’d do it all again. Divorce certainly wasn’t the worst thing that had happened to their relationship over the ages.

“Don’t forget everything we’ve taught you. Don’t let boys whisper pretty things in your ear, and don’t believe everything your professors tell you just because they have fancy titles,” Yen told Ciri, cupping her face and looking into her eyes. She pressed a kiss to their daughter’s forehead then glided out of the room.

“Thanks for all of the help, Dad...and everything,” Ciri said when it was just the two of them. 

“Hmm,” was all Geralt could say. He really hadn’t thought about what would happen when he actually had to leave her. He certainly wasn’t prepared for the gut churning pain he was feeling.

“It’ll be okay. I’ll call every night...and I’ll text. Maybe if you aren’t busy, we can go camping one weekend before I get too bogged down with work.”

“Shouldn’t I be reassuring you?” Geralt asked, feeling a smile form on his lips despite not meaning to do so.

“I’m sure you’ll get your chance,” she said, smiling back at him. 

“Come here.”

Ciri went to him, wrapping her arms around his waist and hugging him tightly. Geralt rested his cheek against the top of her head, enveloping her in his arms in a familiar embrace.

“Listen to what Yen told you. Don’t forget to carry your silver blade.”

“I won’t, but I doubt I’ll run into any monsters here on campus.”

“You will, but they’ll likely be the human variety,” Geralt said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head before pulling away.

“And what works on those sort of monsters?” she asked, smiling up at him.

“Generally a swift kick in the balls, but call Yen if you’re worried. She’s well versed in dealing with human monsters.”

“I’ll miss you,” Ciri said, eyes sparkling with unshed tears.

“I’ll miss you too.” Straightening up, Geralt removed the pendant of the wolf from around his neck, only to place it over Ciri’s head. 

“But, I can’t…” she said, touching the seal he’d worn for centuries.

“My guild is long gone, my kind forgotten. Wear it, and know that I’m with you.” He leaned in and gave her another tight hug before leaving her room to catch up with Yennefer who was waiting just down the hallway, watching a family struggle to carry in their child’s belongings. 

“I know her education will be nothing like ours, yet still I feel a sense of foreboding,” Yen said, frowning as one girl walked out of her dorm room in nothing but a too small towel and flip flops. 

“Hmm.” Geralt gently nudged her in the direction of the exit, knowing nothing good would come of staying to watch the traditions of men.

“My place or yours...never mind, mine is the only one that can objectively be called inhabitable,” Yennefer said as they got into the truck. She rearranged her skirt as she got settled, and Geralt could tell she was just as affected by leaving as he was. Despite centuries together, neither of them would voice their pain. They’d seek physical comforts and bury the emotional anguish for Ciri’s sake.

Geralt grunted as he pulled out of the spot, but he wasn’t going to argue with Yen. If they went to her place, he wouldn’t be the one cleaning up the destruction they tended to leave behind. 


	2. A Syllabus, Like a Succubus, Will Drain the Life Out of You

Jaskier glanced over his notes for the fourth time, but no matter how many times he looked them over the accounts never quite came together. Trying to piece together an accurate description of a beast that had likely either gone extinct centuries earlier or hadn’t existed at all, through verbal accounts passed down through the ages wasn’t exactly easy. No one had ever gotten close enough to these creatures in order to properly document them because the risk of being eaten or mauled was far too likely. Or, the more likely scenario according to current theory, these monsters were just figments of lore which taught the youth of the time the dangers of the world.

Sighing, Jaskier put down the account he’d been reading through. He had a class to teach. Young minds to mold. Perhaps the Continent’s next great scholar of monster lore was waiting in that auditorium as he went cross-eyed trying to make sense out of differing accounts. It was becoming harder and harder not to become disillusioned.

Years of careful study may have gotten Jaskier nowhere when it came to proving monsters were real, but that didn’t mean he could shirk his duties as a professor. Theories were proven wrong every day, and researchers survived to theorize again. He would be the same. 

Glancing up at the painting that hung over his desk, Jaskier bit his lip. The oil painting was mostly in shades of gray, black, and white. It depicted a man wearing all black, holding a sword that was covered in blood. The red of the blood was the only color in the image. The man’s skin was deathly pale, and he had black veins beneath his eyes. His entire eyes were also consumed by black. 

The man had white hair that was long and covered in gore. Flecks of blood covered his face, arms, and clothing. He wore a silver pendant that had the head of a wolf or other beast cast into it, and it hung half out of his shirt. The hand not holding the blade was raised in front of his chest, and it was soaked in blood up to the forearm. 

The man was clearly more monster than human. Around him, the shadows of bodies lay on the ground. His expression was that of a feral beast, snarling at its prey.

The painting, titled the Butcher of Blaviken, had hung for centuries in the halls of the castle at Blaviken. It had been stolen about a century ago, and it had been forgotten for decades before resurfacing in an abandoned storage facility. With no one to claim the piece, it had gone to auction, and it had sold for what amounted to nothing because he claimed they felt incredibly uncomfortable when they looked at it. It had been gifted to Jaskier after he presented his thesis on the Butcher, and he’d cherished it ever since. 

Jaskier had been trying to prove the man’s existence for years, but his leads always dried up. The white-haired witcher appeared in many texts. They all seemed to be referring to the same man, rather than white hair being a characteristic of all witchers. However, the texts made little sense. They couldn’t agree whether he was a monster as the portrait above his desk implied, or if he was a savior as many of the accounts depicted him.

The validity of the accounts was also suspect because most of them were not written down until centuries after the witcher had lived. It was all very frustrating. 

“It will just have to wait,” Jaskier said, standing up and pulling his flamboyant blazer from the back of his chair. Today’s was blue and designed to make it look like it was made of dragon scales. The older professors hated his outfits, but they couldn’t stop him...even if they could censure him about respectable theories about monsters and monster hunters.

Grabbing the stack of syllabuses, Jaskier hurried out of the office already running five minutes late. By the time he reached the auditorium, the students had all taken their seats but were chatting restlessly. Jaskier marched across the front of the room, dropping the large stack onto the front table before leaning against the table beside it.

He took a moment to study his audience. As always, most of the students had taken the seats at the back of the auditorium, leaving the front rows sparsely filled with individuals who were either too late to grab a back seat, or those that had a desk full of notebooks and brightly colored writing implements, ready to copy down his every word. 

There was only one person in the front row though, and she didn’t seem to fit into either category. She had a single notebook and pen on her lap rather than the foldout desktop. Her sharp eyes followed his every move as he settled against the table. It was almost as though she was taking his measure, and he couldn’t help but feel that he would be found wanting.

Jaskier cleared his throat, glancing out across the room again, trying to avoid the young woman’s penetrating gaze.

“Welcome to Monster Lore 101. If you are not here to learn about the mythical beasts of the Continent, then I would scurry along now since you’re already ten minutes late to your proper class,” Jaskier began, pausing to wait for the inevitable pack of students who had accidentally come to the wrong place. 

Only a handful of students rose from their seats and sheepishly made their way down the aisles to the classroom door. Jaskier smiled at them fondly, remembering his own days as a student at Oxenfurt. He’d been that student more times than he would ever admit. Jaskier was no stranger to the walk of shame in any of its forms. 

“Okay, now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, I am Professor Pankratz. I prefer to be called Jaskier, but the university insists that I can’t simply go by Jaskier as I am a scholar and not a beloved pop idol... _ yet _ . However, what they do not know can’t hurt any of us, so please call me Jaskier. I have been studying monster lore for almost a decade, and I am the Continent’s foremost authority in the beasts said to have terrorized the Continent for centuries after the Convergence. I am also an authority on the lore surrounding the mythical monster hunters, known as witchers, said to have brought these beasts to extinction. In this course, I will give you a background on the different lore surrounding the various beasts, and we will study how this lore fits the social and economic struggles of the times…”

The petite girl, seated in the front row, raised her hand. It was jarring because usually by this time in his speech, the entire class was somewhere between sleeping with their eyes open and fully catatonic. Jaskier paused his welcome speech and looked at her in confusion. Surely, she couldn’t already have a question. He’d literally just announced what had been written in the course description she would’ve read when she registered for the class. Hands were simply not raised during the syllabus roll out. Questions were not formulated until he reached the section on assignments then suddenly everyone was clamoring to ask about page counts.

“Yes? Miss?” he asked, frowning at her.

“Cirilla, but most people call me Ciri,” the girl introduced herself with poise not often afforded freshmen.

“Ciri, what is your question?”

Was she going to ask to use the bathroom? That had actually happened before, and he hadn’t been wholly prepared to delicately explain asking wasn’t necessary. Maybe she hadn’t gotten a copy as they were passed around, but he was pretty sure he saw one in her lap...

“Am I to understand that you do not believe the lore you’ve spent over a decade studying?” she asked, sounding mildly affronted by the thought.

Jaskier frowned more deeply, and gritted his teeth wished she’d asked to use the bathroom instead. Taking a breath, he steeled himself as he gave her the line that the university demanded he state for the credibility of their institution. “Lore generally is based on only the loosest vestiges of truth. As you will see throughout the course, most of the lore can be explained through natural phenomena that would fit the social and economic struggles of the people during that time…”

“Or, they could be explained by real beasts that terrorized those people who were already struggling,” Ciri interrupted him. Her blue eyes blazed with righteous belief.

Jaskier swallowed thickly. Surely, this little slip of a girl didn’t believe in monsters. Surely, anyone who was brilliant enough to be accepted to Oxenfurt would not be gullible enough to believe in old tales of monstrous creatures, himself not included, but as he’d been told time and again, his beliefs were just fantasies.

“Surely, if such creatures did exist then there would be definitive evidence. Remains or written records…” He began the argument he’d perfected in the mirror. He even knew how to do it without his eyes looking completely dead.

“And surely, there would be those that would want to erase those records and twist history to their own benefit.”

“What benefit would there be in erasing such records?”

“Shouldn’t that be the question that you are answering? You are the foremost authority on the subject after all.” Ciri asked, chin tipped up.

Jaskier felt as though he’d been slapped, and the gasp that went through the audience of nearly one hundred did not lessen the blow at all. Jaskier only just managed to tamp down the outrage he felt, and cleared his throat. It reminded him of the busking he’d done during college, and the way people had thrown rotting food at him to show their displeasure.

“Miss Cirilla, this is a class in monster  _ lore _ . If you are looking for a course in beastly anatomy or monster science, perhaps you should take it up with the biology or paleontology departments,” he said, calmly. The snickers that went through the audience were unfortunate as Jaskier didn’t particularly enjoy embarrassing his students, but they were necessary if he was to garner any respect this semester.

Ciri frowned, but she didn’t speak out again. She folded her arms in her lap and watched him with sharp eyes that seemed to pick him apart down to the marrow. He had definitely been found wanting, and he wasn’t sure why that cut him so deeply. Especially when he had all the power here. He’d seen professors fail students for less attitude than she’d just given him. Jaskier wasn’t exactly a hardened academic though. Despite the university’s tight leash, he still believed deep down.

Jaskier swallowed thickly before diving back into his speech as he handed out the syllabus. He quickly went through it before dismissing his class, knowing none of them cared to hear anything further on the first day. He also didn’t have the wherewithal to sustain another line of questioning from the girl in the front row. Was he a coward? Perhaps.

Ciri took her time putting away her notebook and her newly acquired syllabus. Jaskier watched her, trying to figure her out. She looked younger than many of the other students in the class, but she also seemed sharper than most. Jaskier wasn’t delusional enough to believe most people took his class for their love of monsters and lore. They took it because they hoped it was an easy elective that would take care of a few requirements.

However, Ciri didn’t seem like she was there for an easy grade. She’d read through the entire syllabus as he was speaking, and she’d highlighted on almost every page. Jaskier was tempted to ask what she’d been highlighting, but he was also a little afraid to.

Jaskier was about to begin packing up his own belongings when a pendant slipped out of Ciri’s shirt as she leaned over to pick up her bag. Jaskier’s eyes were drawn to the medallion that seemed too big for her small frame. She quickly tucked it back into her shirt as she stood, preventing Jaskier from getting a good look at the symbol on it, but it seemed familiar to him.

“I hope you are not too disappointed, Ciri. I can understand the draw of the lore can be great, and believing in monsters is sometimes easier than believing in the evil men freely do to each other,” Jaskier said when it was only the two of them left in the classroom. He wanted to tell her that he’d held the same beliefs as her when he’d come to Oxenfurt, but he didn’t want to come across as condescending. 

“Of course, I’m not disappointed. I am sure that your course will be a fascinating study in the desire of men to explain away anything they cannot comprehend through their own arrogance. I look forward to it,” she said, giving him a smile that was almost predatory. Clearly, she did not have the same reservations about condescension.

Jaskier opened and closed his mouth, not knowing how to respond to such a cutting remark from such an unsuspecting looking girl.

“See you on Friday, Ciri.” He almost chirped instead of touching that comment.

“Goodbye, Professor Pankratz,” she returned, walking out of the room with a purpose. Somehow, her use of his title only made her remarks worse. She definitely saw him as a hack which wasn’t all that uncommon, but usually it was other professors that saw him that way. And usually, he’d at least slept with their significant other before they began to feel that way.

Jaskier ran his hand over his face, not really knowing what to make of the girl or her opinions. It wasn’t that he hadn’t believed in monsters when he’d arrived at Oxenfurt over a decade earlier. He’d dedicated his entire body of research to establishing that they had existed, but the more he’d studied the more whimsical the accounts became, and the less he believed. Sure, he still had his beliefs, but most of them were buried under stacks of contradictory evidence.

Eventually, he’d come to terms with the university’s stance that these beasts were just lore originating from the trials of the times. To say his own disappointment had been devastating would be a great understatement, but Jaskier had learned to live with it. He was no stranger to disappointment.

His continued research into the lore of the witchers was the last thread of his youthful beliefs. Why create a monster hunter that was considered more monster than man? Surely, knights who fought monsters for  _ kingdom and glory _ would be a better choice for a narrative. Yet, there were few tales of lone knights successfully vanquishing monsters. Far more tales spoke of the witchers who fought for coin and little else, but who were extremely successful at what they did. 

Jaskier sighed, collecting the papers that were left behind. He shoved them into his briefcase and headed back toward his office. Stewing over Ciri’s opinion of him would do little good. Perhaps if he looked over his notes again, something would make more sense.


	3. Father Knows Best

“He doesn’t believe in monsters, Yen,” Ciri said over the phone as she read through her syllabus for the third time. She’d highlighted more once she’d gotten back to her room. She’d felt a little bad marking up Jaskier’s entire syllabus as he’d watched her. And he _had_ been watching her. She could sense his growing dejection with each pass of her highlighter.

Yennefer made a noise that said she was still listening, but had little opinion on the subject. It was a noise that tended to drive Geralt up a wall, despite Geralt having a very similar reaction in his own repertoire, but Ciri supposed that anything could become irritating after centuries.

“We’re going to spend a class exploring how the bruxae are a metaphor for the way nobles leached off the poor.” It was such a preposterous theory that Ciri had highlighted it, circled it, and written BULLSHIT beside it in block letters. She’d been able to track the beads of sweat sliding down Jaskier’s temple after that.

“Drop the class, Ciri. The man’s ignorance is not worth your time,” Yen told her, clearly trying to be her most reasonable self. Sometimes raising a child meant telling them not to do the vengeful things she would’ve done in her youth to show the professor that monsters did exist and some of them were strikingly similar to pretty girls.

Though, Ciri couldn’t be certain Yennefer wasn’t plotting Jaskier’s early demise while acting blase about the whole thing. That was the sort of thing Yennefer would do.

“But, this is what I came here to learn.” Ciri huffed out a sigh. Oxenfurt was known for its monster studies program which was closely linked to their renowned literature program. Professor Pankratz hadn’t been lying when he’d said he was the foremost authority. The man had spent a decade deciphering and picking apart every account he could get his hands on. He’d spoken at conferences all across the Continent. There wasn’t a better man to learn from.

“You could have just asked Geralt or myself.”

Well, perhaps Geralt would have been a better source of information on witchers, but that had its own downside.

“Dad never wants to talk about the past.” It wasn’t for lack of trying on Ciri’s part either. When she’d first come to live with him, she’d asked about witchers every night. Geralt would tell her tales of monsters he’d slayed like bedtime stories for almost a year. She had sat on her bed, tucked beneath her grandmother’s quilt, and Geralt had sat on the edge of the bed with her stringing more words together than he’d ever done before.

She’d had a nightmare after he told her about the Striga princess that he’d saved and nearly died in the process. Geralt had woken her from the dream, and he never told her another story, never really understanding that the thought of not having him in her life was far scarier than any monster. 

“He’s just trying to raise you in something other than the nightmares we were brought up in. This is a different time. Your survival doesn’t depend on the knowledge he holds, but he will tell you when he’s ready.” Yennefer had continued to tell Ciri very watered down stories of her and Geralt’s exploits through the ages, but she never got into the details about what it was to be a witcher or a mage. 

“What about when _I’m_ ready?”

“Be patient with your father. Destiny has not always been kind to him.”

“Like you show him patience?”

“I’ve known Geralt far too long to have any patience left for him, and it is the same for him to me. Neither of us take it personally. Humans aren’t meant to spend centuries together.”

“You both say you aren’t human.”

“And yet we share many of humanity’s faults.” 

Ciri thought about that for a moment. Yennefer rarely admitted her weaknesses. Geralt was more willing to admit his faults and shortcomings, but even he never mentioned the struggles of living as long as he had. The things he must have seen over a dozen lifetimes. It was little wonder that he rarely wished to speak about that past.

“I don’t want to drop the class. I want to know the stories. I want to prove Jaskier wrong.”

“Perhaps you should ask your father what you should do.”

“But he’ll tell me that being right isn’t always what’s most important.” 

“Really?”

“For a man whose job is slaughtering monsters, he’s very big on taking the high road.”

“Which is exactly why you should ask him and not myself. He read those parenting books when we took you in. I’m just liable to tell you to open the professor’s small brain to the horrors he’s unwilling to see.”

“How can I do that?” Ciri flipped to a clean page in her notebook and picked up her favorite pen to jot down Yennefer’s every word.

Yennefer cleared her throat. “Call your father, and try not to get yourself into too much trouble. He’s already worried about sending you to the university. But please call me if this Professor Pankratz gives you more trouble. I should turn his intestines inside out just for how he spoke to you.”

“I backed him into a corner. It was nothing, Yen.” Ciri put her pen down. Clearly, Yennefer was not going to be sharing her knowledge with her.

“Don’t defend the weasel. Small-minded men aren’t worth your sympathy.”

Ciri smiled. Yen had always been ready to spill blood at the mere thought of anyone slighting Ciri, and the impulse hadn’t diminished as Ciri grew. She wasn’t sure what she’d done to deserve such loving and protective and lethal parents.

“You mean the world to me, Ciri.”

“I love you too, Mom.” 

Ciri sighed as Yennefer disconnected the call. She glanced up at the screen of the laptop that Yennefer had bought her. Geralt’s eye had actually twitched as he watched Ciri remove it from the box Yen had packed it in. There had been a hushed argument in the hallway while she was setting it up. Neither of them had been hushed enough that Ciri couldn’t hear Geralt worrying over how much it had cost or Yennefer brushing it off like two thousand dollars was pocket change. 

She had the professor rating site opened in one tab and the school website in another. She’d done her research on Professor Pankratz since returning to her dorm, and despite what she had hoped to find, the general consensus was that the man was a beloved part of the faculty and had been a revered student.

Julian Alfred Pankratz was recognized by more prestigious organizations than Ciri could name. His histories were widely accepted and thoroughly researched. His lore analyses were used in classrooms across the Continent. His students praised him, and the university fought hard to entice him to become a professor full time rather than just a guest lecturer.

In fact, the only negative things she could find about him were that he was known to sleep with anything that breathed and walked on two legs, including the wives of other professors. There were also multiple pictures of the man looking extremely intoxicated and playing what looked to be a lute at campus gatherings. These pictures only seemed to make the students adore him more. And despite his reputation as a womanizer, he was well liked among the faculty as well.

Sighing, Ciri dialed Geralt. She’d predicted, he’d probably tell her that proving the professor wrong wasn’t important, and she should probably drop the class. Even if she could guess that, it would be nice to hear him say it. Geralt generally gave good advice.

“Have you terrorized the Lore professor yet?” Geralt asked, instead of greeting her. He already sounded amused, so Ciri thought he was either drunk or playing Gwent on the ancient computer he’d purchased her for school work years ago. It had served her well until Yennefer bought her the laptop. Now, Geralt used it for games and little else.

Ciri gasped. “How did you know I am taking Monster Lore? And why would I terrorize my professor?” She definitely sounded a touch indignant, but she had a right to be. She hadn’t told Geralt what classes she was taking or anything about any of her professors.

“You are underage. I have access to your schedule and everything else.” 

“So, you are keeping tabs on me?”

“I hardly call reading mail that is addressed to me keeping tabs on you. Keeping tabs would be sitting in the back of Professor Pankratz’s lecture and watching you verbally eviscerate the man.”

“So, you were keeping tabs.”

“No, but you did just admit you terrorized the man.” Geralt was definitely amused, and he was clearly having fun teasing her.

“Fuck,” Ciri cursed, knowing Geralt had caught her out. He hadn’t been this good at it when she’d first come to live with him, but he was rapidly beginning to understand the nuances of raising a teenager, and Ciri wasn’t sure that she liked it.

“What did you say to the man?”

“I just asked whether he actually believed monsters to be real. How can you teach a class on monsters if you don’t think they existed?”

“It is better this way,” Geralt said softly. 

Ciri could picture the fond, though pained, expression he wore as he said it. He often wore it when she asked about his past. It was a strange mixture of relief and nostalgia, like he didn’t know quite how to express how happy he was that he was the last of his kind. Yennefer had once worn the same expression when the news had reported that the ruins of Aretuzza had burned to the ground and been swallowed up by the sea.

Ciri sighed. “I suppose you are going to tell me to let it go and let him believe what he wants to.”

Geralt grunted. “Make a fool of him. If he can’t defend himself from the truth, he shouldn’t be teaching. But remember that he’s within his rights to fail you if you humiliate him or fail to back up your claims with evidence.” 

Ciri opened her mouth then snapped it closed again. Geralt must have definitely been drunk. This was the man who’d taught her how to defend herself with anything at her disposal then told her she should never hurt another human. Despite centuries of life, his moral compass was still intact. Yet, here he was encouraging mischief against her professor. 

“I know I don’t speak much about my past anymore, and I know you want to learn. Perhaps there is something to be learned in this class even if the professor doesn’t believe.” He suddenly sounded tired. “It’s not that I don’t want you to know the truth about my past…”

Ciri smiled. “It’s okay, Dad. I know things weren’t easy when you took me in, but I’m okay. You haven’t irreparably damaged me. In fact, my doctor insists that I am incredibly well adjusted for a girl whose whole family died before she hit puberty.”

“What was the reason you called? Don’t you have class soon?” Geralt asked, changing the subject. 

“It was actually about Professor Pankratz…”

“You’re disappointed, but you feel bad taking it out on him.”

Ciri wasn’t sure how Geralt could read her without asking any questions or even being in the same room as her. He’d been able to do it since he took her in. He didn’t always understand her problems, but he understood her and how she felt, like no one else ever had.

“I just thought...I don’t know. I guess I just thought that he’d understand. That maybe I’d have someone else who knew. It’s hard knowing monsters exist when no one else believes. And you and Mom don’t like to talk about it...so it’s kind of lonely,” Ciri admitted. Perhaps it was the distance that made her bold enough to say it to him.

Geralt sighed, no longer sounding amused. “You’ve only just met this man. Perhaps there is more to him than you know. Don’t let your disappointment disillusion you yet.”

“But what if I made a mistake coming here? What if I’m not ready for this, and I just let my excitement—”

“You’re ready Ciri, and this will be whatever you put into it.”

“Yennefer was right.”

“Hmm?”

“You really did read those parenting books.”

Geralt grunted like a displeased ox, but he didn’t deny the accusation. “If I’ve learned one thing, it’s not to give up on people just because they don’t fit your expectations for them.”

Ciri could sense the old wounds that piece of advice reopened. She could just imagine Geralt rubbing at one of his physical scars as he said it. The name Renfri came to mind. She’d heard him mutter it in his sleep plenty of times when he seemed to be having a nightmare.

“I have to go camping this weekend. Perhaps you’d like to come?”

“What are we hunting?” Ciri couldn’t help her excitement. 

“Thinking a kikimora up in swamps between the mountains. A few hikers have gone missing. Shouldn’t be a hard job.”

“Can’t wait. Don’t forget my armor...and my sword,” Ciri said. Geralt had forged her a silver blade for her fourteenth birthday, and rather than playing soccer or softball in the backyard, he’d taught her to fight. 

“Hmm.”

“Maybe Yen—”

“Don’t push it.”

Ciri smiled. Geralt wasn’t fooling anyone. He didn’t mind Yennefer joining them even if they did fight half of the time. He just liked to pretend he hated it.

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Get to class, Ciri.”

“Fuck,” she cursed as she realized her next class was starting in ten minutes. “I’ll talk to you later. Don’t play too much Gwent.”

“You’re going to be late," he ground out like his Gwent habit wasn't common knowledge.

“Yeah, yeah. Love you too,” she said, hanging up on him.


	4. An Olive Branch, or as the History Department Calls it: a Newly Discovered Primary Source

Jaskier stood in front of the lecture hall, lute in hand, strumming away as students entered the room. He kept the tune light as he watched the bleary-eyed students enter. Most of them had probably been out too late and too deep into their cups last night. Oxenfurt may have been a prestigious institution, but the students still understood that Thirsty Thursday was a sacred tradition. 

To honor the wretched state that most of the students found themselves in on the first Friday of the semester, Jaskier played a mournful tune—tipping his head as he smiled to those that cringed at the music. They were in for a rude awakening in a few minutes because his voice was a lot louder than his lute playing, and he wasn’t about to hold back just because they didn’t know how to hold their alcohol. This was the consequence of taking an 8:30 AM class. Late nights were destined to collide with early mornings.

Jaskier was just about to start class when Ciri rushed into the room, clutching her notebook to her chest. She didn’t look like the type to have been out drinking the night before, but she did look like she hadn’t slept much. Her hair was in a messy knot on top of her head, like she’d gotten frustrated with it and piled it up then forgot what she’d done before leaving the house.

“Welcome, Miss Cirilla,” Jaskier singsonged as he began to strum the lute in earnest. 

“Good morning, Professor Jaskier,” she said, still unable to divorce him from his title. Though perhaps there was hope yet since she’d at least opted for Jaskier.

“Good morning the rest of you degenerate lot. A word of wisdom for you this fine morning. While I am a steadfast believer in the ritual of Thirsty Thursday, it is generally best practice to show a modicum of self control when one has a class at the break of dawn the following day. I have much to teach you this semester, and I will not be cancelling class on Fridays simply to support your bad behavior. With that said, let us begin,” Jaskier announced really getting into his tune before stopping suddenly and placing his lute on the table.

“Who can tell me where most of the lore of the Continent that we have came from?” he asked, looking out among the pale faces. Most of them looked ready to either puke or pass out. Jaskier had been a lush in his day, but he didn’t really remember it being  _ this  _ bad. Though he hadn’t scheduled a single class before noon in his entire time at Oxenfurt, going so far as to getting a professor to alter their course’s meeting time by winning a game of cards. The school had been very put out, but Jaskier had managed to get his way.

Only Ciri raised her hand to answer, and Jaskier could already see several students rolling their eyes at her enthusiasm. He remembered those sorts of students during his time as well. A plague on them.

“Ciri, enlighten your fellow classmates,” Jaskier said, giving her his brightest smile. Maybe she thought he was a hack, but at least she was willing to participate. That was more than could be said for the rest of the class, and teaching was certainly more interesting with participation.

“Most lore was passed down through song. Bards performed ballads that told stories with common themes throughout the Continent. Few people could actually read or write at the time, but bards that traveled widely often created songs that would be learned and sung across the Continent. Eventually, over centuries, they were slowly written down, leaving us with a record of these tales,” Ciri explained, opening up her notebook which was already filled with notes and several clipped articles.

“Correct. Song is our best record of lore—”

“ _ But _ , not all ballads were created equal,” Ciri cut him off before he could get going.

Jaskier blinked at her as she began spreading the clippings and notes out on her desk. Before he could get a word in, she continued on.

“See, some bards found security in working in specific courts. Depending on the court, this could greatly impact the content of their songs. If the local lord held a grudge, those feelings might be reflected in their bard’s songs because no one wanted to alienate those that fed and housed them. Bards weren’t without prejudice either, and those prejudices made their way into songs,” Ciri explained, picking up different clips like she was looking for something specific.

The class had lost some of their sickly pallor in favor of shooting dirty looks in Ciri’s direction. It was hard enough to get most of them to care about what was in the syllabus, especially if there wasn’t a grade attached to knowing it. However, go outside the syllabus and they didn’t want to know it.

“Quite right. We should always take into account the authors of the accounts we have—”

“A specific instance of author prejudice can be found in the very bard noted in the syllabus for today’s lesson,” Ciri continued again.

Jaskier gulped. That was not good. The girl had come armed to Friday morning class. He may have claimed that he wouldn’t go easy on his students, but he specifically planned his lightest lessons for Fridays. The lessons that were half fluff, and he could dance through in his sleep...and Ciri was going to call him out on it on the first day.

“Well, perhaps you’ll let me introduce the bard and the songs then you can jump in with your own research?” Jaskier suggested, trying to remain professional. He suddenly missed the days of playing open mic nights and sleeping with half the bar. Despite the lack of money and the angry boyfriends, it had been a much safer career. For one thing, freshmen girls with vendettas weren’t allowed into bars.

Ciri just nodded, looking completely serious. The rest of the class looked either completely lost or disgruntled with her interruptions. One young man in some sort of sports jersey was looking at her like she was some sort of monster of lore, and the girl next to him looked at her like she was something stuck to the bottom of her designer shoe. This was not good at all. There was likely to be bloodshed if he didn’t rein things in.

Jaskier picked up his lute again and began to play the ballad listed in the syllabus. Personally, Jaskier thought the bard Valdo Marx was a hack, but he had one of the most extensive bodies of work preserved from the time. Of course, it would be the pretentious hack who could read and write, and thus preserve his own stories. Jaskier had read the man’s journals, and if a single word of his was reliable, Jaskier would eat his own lute.

The class didn’t seem particularly enchanted by Jaskier’s cover of the bard’s material, but he doubted they’d be enchanted by much with the amount of alcohol swimming in their veins. He played the song as best he could, treating it as any other performance and imagining what it would have be like to be a bard of old.

“As you may have noted, Valdo Marx has a distaste for monsters, but his songs speak that the real danger is the monsters that hunt other monsters. Marx’s journals and his ballads are some of the first instances of the idea of witchers. Marx never refers to these monster hunters as witchers, but they bear a striking resemblance to accounts that actually give name to witchers,” Jaskier lectured, placing the lute on the table and pacing across the front of the room. 

He was gearing up for a tangent on the use of the term “witcher” versus the pointed avoidance of the term when Ciri raised her hand. He motioned for her to speak with his hand as he returned to the front table and took a seat. If he let her exhaust herself, perhaps he’d still have time enough to fit in his lesson.

“Valdo Marx was a con artist who found a very comfortable living in Cidaris. He adopted every prejudice of the people to further his career and gain more fame. Several accounts insist that he stole ballads from other, lesser known bards and claimed them as his own. Then he would pen false tales about those bards to quiet them. There is one account, rarely referenced, of his later years when he had an encounter with a witcher who was passing through. The witcher took offense to his ballad on the Butcher of Blaviken, but Marx rallied the people against the witcher, claiming him to be a true monster come to rape their wives and children and slaughter the men. The account claims that no witcher would take coin in Cidaris after that, and much of the town was killed by a nest of bruxae that saw the opportunity to exploit their stupidity.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened. “And which account was that? I have not read it in any journals.”

“Yennefer of Vengerberg.”

Jaskier searched his vast knowledge, but couldn’t pull from it any accounts of a Yennefer of Vengerberg. He was certain that such a name would’ve stood out, especially if she had something so pointed to say about Marx. Jaskier had searched high and low for accounts to clarify the man’s writings, but nothing had ever surfaced. He’d begged to see original documents, traveled all over the Continent for information, but nothing existed.

“I do not...I have never heard...where did you read such an account?” Jaskier asked. Had such a thing existed, he would have known about it.

“Her personal journal,” Ciri said, holding up one of the clippings she had brought with her. 

Jaskier took the bait. It was too tempting not to. Like a moth to a flame, Jaskier forgot all about his lesson and walked over to her, taking the offered piece of paper. It was a picture of a handwritten journal. He couldn’t judge the age from the picture, but there was a possibility it was authentic. How many people falsified stories about Valdo Marx after all?

Jaskier started reading, squinting at the tiny print and becoming completely engrossed until someone cleared their throat obnoxiously.

“Ciri, I would like to speak with you about this after class, if you wouldn’t mind,” he said, quickly glancing around the room.

“Of course!” She almost chirped with excitement. 

Jaskier nodded before diving back into his usual lecture, though he took more time to turn a critical eye on Valdo Marx’s words. He felt himself glancing in Ciri’s direction often, feeling his body prickle with excitement over what could be a brilliant discovery. If he was inspired to end class with a ballad of his own, the students didn't seem to care as they walked out muttering about early classes being cruel and unusual. 

* * *

Ciri followed Jaskier into his office, and she almost walked right back out again. The back wall of the office was almost entirely covered in a massive portrait of the Butcher of Blaviken. It was horrifying. The blood, the monstrous expression, the eyes that lacked the soul that was present even when Geralt had taken the cat potion.

“You like the Butcher?” Jaskier asked, turning around when he realized Ciri had stopped moving.

“It’s…” Ciri didn’t know what to say. From a completely scholarly perspective, it was a brilliant rendering of the Butcher of Blaviken. It captured the duality of man and monster in stark relief. However, as the daughter of that particular witcher, it tore at her heart to see something that hardly resembled her father hung above the foremost authority on witchers’ desk like it was solid fact.

“I know, it’s a bit much, but my apartment isn’t exactly big enough for such a thing. Being an expert on lore isn’t exactly a fancy apartment kind of job. But anyway, I’ve always felt a connection to the lore of the Butcher, you know? Maybe it’s the mystery surrounding it, or the contradictory accounts of the white-haired witcher,” Jaskier said, taking a seat beneath the portrait.

Jaskier sounded full of awe as he spoke about it, like he owned some priceless piece of memorabilia, or like having a portrait of Geralt actually connected them in some way. Suddenly, Ciri felt very sorry for the man. How lonely it must be to feel connection with a portrait of a man you couldn’t prove existed. To feel kinship to a ghost.

Ciri took in the image before her, Jaskier kicked back in his chair, and her father’s visage looming behind him. One might not have been able to say whether Geralt watched over Jaskier, protecting him, or whether he was about to add Jaskier to his body count. However, Ciri had a sudden flash cross her mind.

_ Geralt standing beside Jaskier, holding the professor up with one arm and holding his silver sword in the other.  _

_ Silver is not for men, Ciri _ , he’d always told her. 

Shaking her head, Ciri focused again on Jaskier, who was smiling at her almost shyly.

“Geralt is my favorite too,” she said, stepping further into the room and taking a seat in one of the chairs across from Jaskier. 

“Here, and I thought it was Valdo Marx,” Jaskier joked, moving some papers around on his desk.

Ciri smiled. At least, Jaskier was easygoing. She’d been afraid that he’d be rigid and uninterested in her theories, but maybe Geralt had been right about not jumping to conclusions. “I think he was the worst kind of liar.”

“And what kind of liar is that?”

“One with a wide audience.”

Jaskier laughed, leaned back in his chair further and kicked his boots up on his desk. “I like your spunk, Ciri. Marx has always rubbed me the wrong way, but there are no accounts to directly contradict his writings. And that’s the long and short of it. My feelings don’t matter much if I have nothing to back it up with.”

“Because he had the power to silence such voices.”

“Show me this letter you have again,” Jaskier said, dropping his feet and shooting forward suddenly. 

Ciri held out the pages of Yennefer’s old journals that she’d taken photos of. Jaskier didn’t need to know that those very journals were sitting in a chest at the foot of her dorm room bed. Yennefer had certainly been helpful as soon as Ciri had mentioned Geralt’s blessing—not that Yennefer needed Geralt’s blessing, but she had been working on not completely contradicting his parenting. It was an effort with varying degrees of success. Geralt’s no ice cream before dinner rule had been ignored repeatedly and often.

Jaskier took the photos and picked up a pair of glasses, which had been buried in a stack of papers, and began to pour over them. Ciri was struck by the sudden appearance of the spectacles, and she must have made a small noise, because he looked up sheepishly.

“I’ve ruined my eyes picking through documents late into the night.” He touched the frame of the glasses lightly, still seeming a bit ashamed of them, then he shrugged. “Wouldn’t give it up though. The lore is just too addictive.”

“You’re a nerd, Professor.”

Jaskier smiled at her brightly. “Guilty as charged, Cirilla. We can’t all be dashing heroes. Some of us prefer to record those stories instead.”

“I don’t know, Jaskier. The research I did on you was fairly colorful.”

Jaskier burst out laughing, putting the papers down and removing the glasses to wipe at his eyes. “I shouldn’t be surprised, but here I am, called out by a freshmen for my indiscretions. Do I even want to know what you read?” 

Ciri gave him the smirk she often wore when she gave Geralt a hard time. Yennefer had always instilled in her that it was best to let others know she shouldn’t be underestimated. She’d modeled the smirk after Yennefer’s own when she often called out Geralt.

“Right, I have to say, I half expected you to drop the class,” Jaskier said offhandedly as he began to read over the accounts again.

“My father encouraged me to stay.”

“Was your father the one to teach you about lore?” Jaskier still hadn’t looked up. Despite clearly listening to her, he was completely engrossed in Yennefer’s words.

“He used to. He’d tell me bedtime stories about monsters. I grew up on the adventures of Geralt of Rivia. They made me feel safe when everything else in my life was so uncertain,” Ciri admitted, feeling a weight lift from her chest.

“The Butcher made you feel safe,” Jaskier said. His tone wasn’t questioning or condescending. He was simply putting the pieces together. 

“He wasn’t a butcher. There is an abundance of accounts of the white-haired witcher going beyond any other to help people and defend the weak. However, all anyone wants to talk about is the Butcher of Blaviken…”

“And when men like Valdo Marx had the loudest voices which they used to spread lies, how can one be certain of the validity of such a condemnation?” Jaskier cut in, placing the papers back onto his desk. 

“Precisely.”

“You’ve certainly given this a lot of thought, Ciri, but as historians we need proof to back it up. Unfortunately, it is very possible that that proof was long ago destroyed if it ever existed at all.”

“There’s proof, Professor. People just aren’t ready to see it.”

Jaskier gave her a confused look before clearing his throat and pointing to the pictures. “I would love to get my hands on this account.”

“That can be arranged.”

“You just have access to historical documents?” Jaskier sounded skeptical.

“Like I said, my parents are big on lore,” she said, hoping he wouldn’t pick her words apart. 

Jaskier stood up and walked to the bookshelf on the side of the office, he pulled several large texts off the shelf and began opening them and spreading them out on his desk. “I’ve been pouring over these accounts for months, and they just don’t add up. Would you like to take a look at them?”

Ciri felt as weightless as a balloon as she practically dove for the array of texts. She spent hours reading over them with him. Bouncing her thoughts off of him, and listening to his own theories. Jaskier was full of brilliant ideas, but the man seemed wary of putting them out for the world to see without properly supporting them with hard evidence. Ciri could understand why he was so lauded, but it was also a bit frustrating that his best ideas couldn’t be substantiated by the available writings.

“Shit, I hate to break this up, but I have office hours starting in five minutes, and the dean frowns upon cancelling them for anything short of death,” Jaskier said after hours of sharing ideas. 

“Fuck. I think I missed my other two classes today,” Ciri said, checking the time on her phone. 

“Trust me. No one shows up for Friday classes. So many people will have missed, that the professor won’t notice exactly who was missing. Unless you tear all your professors apart in front of the class. They might notice your absence then.”

“You can feel honored that you are my only victim,” Ciri said with a smile.

Jaskier smiled back. “Don’t let the stuffy old faculty around here change you, Ciri. Stay firm in your beliefs, or they’ll eat you alive.”

“Like they did you?”

“The university has a reputation to uphold. Claiming that monsters existed doesn’t really mesh with that image.”

“Even if it’s the truth?”

“Truth is only important if it serves a purpose to those in power.”

“You’re very cynical for a man who carries around a lute and sings to all who’ll listen.”

Jaskier smiled sadly at her as he rose from his seat. “I’m afraid the loftiest dreams lead to the hardest falls. Enjoy your weekend, Ciri.”

“I will. My father is taking me camping. You have a good weekend too, Jaskier,” she said, picking up her bag and heading out the door. “Keep Yennefer’s account. I look forward to your thoughts once you’ve fully processed it.”

Ciri stepped out of Jaskier's office with a spring in her step. If he'd be willing to listen to her, maybe he'd be open to the truth. 


	5. Are You Taking Care of Yourself?

“It’s happened. Your daughter has her first crush. Don’t ask questions, it is sickeningly sweet, and with your heightened senses it might make you ill,” Yennefer said as she got into the truck. 

“I don’t remember inviting you to go camping with us.” Geralt said instead of responding to her words. He looked tired despite having his apartment to himself and few jobs to sap his energy. Yennefer worried about him more than she cared to, but Geralt was resistant to outward expressions of that worry. 

“Like I’m going to let you hunt a kikimora with our daughter alone. You have more scars from those nasty suckers that you do hairs on your head. And don’t try to argue with me. I listened to Ciri tell me all about that scoundrel Professor Pankratz for two hours last night, so you didn’t have to. You _owe_ me,” Yennefer declared. Honestly, she was happy that Ciri was enjoying school, but she didn’t trust this professor one bit. 

“He’s harmless. He’s highly regarded in his field. He’s well-liked by students, and his affairs have all been consensual even if the husbands of his lovers have been upset.” Clearly, Geralt wasn’t as oblivious to Ciri’s interests as he made himself out to be. Yennefer wondered if this was what was cutting into his sleep.

“That right there. He’s a seducer. He can’t be trusted. Perhaps he’s an incubus pretending to be a professor, feasting on youthful horny students.”

“Perhaps he is an ordinary man who happens to be less than discreet about where he hides his sausage.”

“How many wives have you fucked?” she asked, turning in her seat.

“You know I favored whores. Like witchers they worked for an exchange of coin and nothing else.”

Yennefer laughed at his blunt admission. She’d never been deluded about his habits in the past, and she certainly hadn’t lived a life devoid of pleasure when she wasn’t in his company. Still, it never failed to amaze her how tactless that man could be.

“I wasn’t lying when I said it is sickeningly cute. She’s so excited about him.”

“She deserves to be happy,” Geralt said with finality. He’d always been willing to trust Ciri’s judgment. 

Yennefer trusted Ciri, but she didn’t trust people, and she knew how naturally manipulation came to many. She didn’t think Geralt was naive, but just because he could find it in him to hope for the best didn’t mean that she would be so willing.

Yennefer was quiet for a while after that, carefully studying her ex-husband. He still looked youthful despite his age, and when he wasn’t hunting, he manadge to clean up very well. Today though, he wore worn leather and scuffed boots. She knew he’d be pulling on armor that was far too old and abused to protect him sufficiently. 

Geralt could rarely afford to make new armor. The materials were always out of his budget when he had to feed and clothe Ciri as well as pay the rent. Then there was the question of time between taking Ciri to school, activities, and spending time with her. It wasn’t like he could purchase it anymore, and it took him far longer to make than if a skilled craftsman did it. So, the man was well overdue for new armor, especially because the last time he’d had money for it, he’d made Ciri armor instead.

“Are you taking care of yourself?” Yennefer asked, knowing that the only chance of getting an honest answer was to ask when Ciri wasn’t around, and those opportunities were few and far between.

“Hmm.”

“That isn’t an answer.”

“I’m fine.”

“But are you taking care of yourself?”

“I eat. I shower.” Geralt shrugged.

Yennefer rolled her eyes at him. “You look like shit.”

“Hmm.”

“Ciri’s worried about you.”

“She always is.”

“Because you don’t take care of yourself. She wants you to be happy.”

“Hmm.”

Yennefer sighed. It was impossible to get through to a man who had had nearly eight hundred years to build up bad habits. 

“She’s going to know you haven’t been sleeping as soon as she sees you, and she’s going to be too polite to say anything. So, she’ll bottle it up and take it with her to worry about while she’s away from you. Just so you know.”

“You finally start reading those parenting books?”

“I don’t need a book. I have hundreds of years of experience worrying about you while you’re off trying to get yourself killed.”

Geralt just grunted.

The ride to Oxenfurt was a quiet one after that. It was best that they didn’t waste all their patience for each other before meeting Ciri. The trip would be more pleasant for everyone if they weren’t at each other’s throats all weekend. 

Ciri was waiting in the parking lot when they arrived. She had a small backpack on but other than the nice hiking boots that Geralt had splurged and bought her for the holidays, she looked just as likely to be headed to class as she was to be going hiking.

“Where’s your coat?” Geralt asked as he got out of the car.

“I can’t wear armor and a coat. It doesn’t work,” Ciri insisted, walking past Geralt to give Yennefer a hug. 

Yennefer gave him a smug smile as she embraced Ciri. Ciri didn’t play favorites with them. She was just as likely to hug Geralt first or excitedly call him with details of her day, but Yennefer still liked to gloat when she could. Geralt always responded with a roll of his eyes, and maybe that was really why she did it. It was one of the few fond responses she still got from him.

“Hmm.”

It was Yennefer’s turn to roll her eyes at Geralt because she very distinctly remembered Geralt telling a twelve-year-old Ciri that he couldn’t wear a coat while hunting because it wouldn’t fit over his armor. The poor man had not been prepared to raise a teenager, or he would’ve watched his mouth more back then. 

Ciri had been very concerned that he would get cold, but he hadn’t known how to explain to her that he didn’t really feel the cold as she did. Not two weeks later she’d witnessed him take down a wyvern after drinking the cat potion, and she hadn’t batted an eye at him being something other than human. He was still her father—had been from the moment she’d set her eyes on him.

Geralt eyed Ciri as she moved toward him to give him the same treatment as Yennefer. “And how many times have I told you that torn jeans are not for hunting monsters?”

“And how many times have I told you that I’m not going to wear leather pants? First of all, it’s hot out, and second, leather pants are ridiculous looking,” Ciri fired back trapping him in a tight hug before he could quip back.

“Let’s get going before we waste all of our time in this parking lot, and then Geralt is gone all night hunting beasts while we’re left to our own devices...on second thought, perhaps we should waste more time,” Yennefer teased, taking Ciri’s deceptively heavy backpack placing it in the front seat.

Ciri gave Geralt a kiss on the cheek before sliding into the middle of the bench seat. She was getting too tall to comfortably fit between them, but she did it without complaint. 

Within fifteen minutes, she was out cold, leaning against Geralt’s shoulder and drooling on his shirt. Geralt didn’t even bat an eye at the growing stain on his sleeve, but Yennefer was always amused at how the movements as he shifted gears didn’t disturb her.

“Barely a week, and she’s already sleep deprived,” Yennefer commented as Geralt navigated the quiet country roads. She had a feeling that things were only going to get quieter and more country as they went, since kikimora only lived in the most remote places these days. Though perhaps one had strayed too close to civilization if Geralt was seeking it out.

“She slept almost sixteen hours a day when she came to live with us.”

“And you rushed her to a doctor to see what was wrong.”

“Hmm…”

“Whoever would have thought that Geralt of Rivia would become a well-adjusted parent?”

“Hmm.”

“Don’t give me that. You always thought it was a blessing you were sterile.”

“My opinion hasn’t changed. Ciri is mine, but she isn’t _mine_. It is better this way.” 

Yennefer sighed, looking out at the vast landscape. “You aren’t the monster you see yourself as.”

Geralt just responded with another infuriatingly vague hum, and they fell back into silence. 

* * *

The hike to their campsite was rugged. Yennefer didn’t know how either Ciri or Geralt could climb the rock scrambles in their armor, but somehow, they managed. Yennefer let Geralt help her only because she wanted to conserve her chaos in case he got his ass handed to him and required rescuing. 

“Is this thing really a threat this far out in the middle of nowhere?” Ciri asked, looking around at the endless sea of trees.

“Three hikers have gone missing over the last few months. The mountain is becoming a popular place for survivalists.

“Not much of survivalists if they get eaten at the first sign of trouble,” Yennefer commented, and she was met with two identical looks of incredulity. “What?”

Both of her companions just shook their heads as they moved further along the path. 

“It seems unfair that we’ve pushed these creatures to the ends of the earth, and now even that is not enough, we must have that too.”

“They were never meant to be here at all, Ciri,” Yennefer said, ducking beneath a tree that had fallen over the path.

“But they are here. Didn’t you teach me to live and let live?” Ciri appealed to Geralt’s softer sentiments on non-humans.

“Hmm.”

“Has your professor given you a new love for monsters?” Yennefer asked. Ciri had never hedged on hunting down a monster that was known to have killed before. Geralt didn’t exactly go after the innocuous variety of beast.

“No,” Ciri claimed too quickly. 

Yennefer wondered what she was hiding. The professor’s ideas on monsters, or the professor himself. 

“Have things improved?” Geralt asked with the most diplomacy exhibited by any of them possibly ever. 

“Yes. You were right not to give up yet. Professor Pankratz definitely has some interesting theories on beasts and witchers, but the university has him on a tight leash,” Ciri explained, readjusting her backpack as she climbed over a fallen tree.

“So not a hack but a leashed dog?” Yennefer supplied.

“ _Yen_.” Geralt’s tone had a hint of warning that she did not appreciate.

“You’re his favorite witcher,” Ciri said, sounding excited to reveal such a thing to Geralt, like the man cared whether he was well liked. Suddenly, Yennefer understood Ciri’s obsession, and she tried not to say anything as they pushed toward something that would certainly be uncomfortable.

“Hmm.”

“He said he always felt a connection to the white-haired witcher.”

“You have a fan, Geralt,” Yen teased, biting her lip to keep her glee contained.

“Will you stop that?” Geralt asked, but there was no heat behind his words. He was just as amused as she was, but he wouldn’t embarrass Ciri or destroy her budding crush. Clearly, Geralt had not shared in her epiphany about Ciri’s motives.

“You should meet him, Dad. He’d shit himself if he met Geralt of Rivia.”

And there it was.

“He wouldn’t be the first.” That comment actually did earn her a laugh from Geralt and one from Ciri as well.

“What do you say?”

“No.”

So much for diplomacy, Yennefer thought as she watched Ciri’s excitement dim.

“You wouldn’t have to tell him who you are. You could just…”

“Just what, Ciri? I’m not just going to show up at his office and have an ale with the man. The less I am involved in the lives of men, the better.”

Yennefer could see how torn Ciri was. Torn between all Geralt had taught her, and her own misguided desire to find the man a friend—to take care of him in a way since he had always taken care of her with little thought to his own needs. 

“Not everyone takes finding out that monsters exist as easily as you did, Ciri. Not everyone can see Geralt’s face when he hunts and not see a monster,” Yennefer stepped in, tugging on the messy ponytail that Ciri wore. It wasn’t the kindest way she could have phrased it, but Geralt had never shied away from what he was.

“Jaskier’s different.” She had the conviction of a sixteen-year-old girl, and Yennefer knew there was little she could say to combat it. Ciri had clearly decided this professor was the answer to some problem, and she wasn’t going to let it go.

“Ciri, this man could be a witcher himself, and I wouldn’t want to meet him. He could be a djinn willing to give me three wishes, and I would not seek him out. I have lived longer than I ever should have. My knowledge— _my kind_ —was supposed to have died out long ago, taking with us the horrors done upon us and done by our blades. There is a reason that there are no records. No others should ever go through what was done to me, what was done to Yennefer. We were not born, we were made, and there was no happy way of creating us. Men cannot be trusted with the power of such knowledge.” Geralt’s eyes blazed as he spoke.

“Who care about your knowledge. You need a damn friend, Dad! Someone who understands you because sitting at home playing Gwent all night because you have no work and no friends isn’t healthy.” Ciri was practically spitting fire as she squared off with Geralt.

“I don’t need anyone!”

Yennefer sighed at how quickly diplomacy had sailed away for more tranquil waters. 

Ciri looked on the brink of tears as she turned and ran away from the path they followed.

“Excellent parenting,” Yennefer said, watching Ciri run. 

Geralt just stood there looking both concerned and disgruntled.

“Go find your monster. I will take care of our daughter.” 

“It needed to be said.”

“Perhaps, but maybe not in that way. And while I know that you believe you need nothing and no one, your daughter might be on to something about your habits.” Yennefer wasn’t exactly known for tact at all times, but sometimes Geralt needed to be reminded that teenage girls took things to heart that millennia old witchers didn’t.

“Fuck.”

“She loves you, or she wouldn’t be doing this.”

“Mm.” Geralt looked at Ciri’s retreating form and back at the path ahead.

“Go. She’ll forgive you as soon as she sees you bleeding and covered in gore.”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “Isn’t that manipulative?”

“And effective. Though she is so soft for you that she will forgive you even before that,” Yennefer shook her head, beginning to walk in the direction that Ciri had gone. She’d give her a little time to calm before opening a portal to her. “And he didn’t want me to tag along,” she muttered as she put some distance between them.

* * *

Geralt tried not to think about upsetting Ciri as he hiked the rest of the way to the swamps that filled the valley between the peaks of the mountain range. The trees were so thick that light barely made it through the canopy down into the mire of the swamp. It was the perfect place for kikimora to live, and he’d be surprised if there was only one of them lurking out here.

Opening up his bag, Geralt picked out the potions he’d need. He drank one before pulling his silver blade from his pack. He checked his armor one last time before wading into the still waters of the swamp. 

Diving beneath the surface, Geralt opened his eyes looking into the murky depths of the swamp. No fish swam nearby, no turtles or frogs. He knew he was in the right place, he just needed to find the Kikimora before if found him.

Geralt rose again to the surface, bringing his feet back under him as he waded further into the still waters. He focused his senses. Up ahead, he saw it. The creature was building something, perhaps a nest. Its focus was solely on its task, and Geralt took full advantage.

Remaining at the bases of trees and in the reeds, Geralt approached the monster as stealthily as possible knowing it would sense him coming. He kept his sword poised for an attack, and he didn’t take his eyes off the beast.

When he was as close as he could get without revealing his presence, Geralt leapt at the creature. He held his sword aloft, ready to strike the first blow as he flew through the air.

Geralt was a meter away from the creature when a second beast appeared, hitting him with one of its massive legs, and sending him tumbling into the murky waters. 

Now alerted to Geralt’s presence, the first kikimora joined them. Geralt hardly had time to get to his feet before he was attacked by the pair. He blocked one of the kikimoras’ legs while dodging a lunge from the second. He twirled, bringing his sword up in an arc that slashed a leg clean off the first beast.

However, the attack opened him up to a counter, and the second beast jabbed him in the side with one of its legs. Geralt’s armor was weaker there, and he could feel the sharp appendage sink into his side before ripping free.

Geralt grunted, stumbling as he reset his stance and continued to block and attack the pair. He used Aard to push the beasts back and attack them one at a time.

The problem was that where there were two kikimora, there was a nest. The third arrived shortly after, and Geralt had a feeling that things were going pear-shaped quickly.

“Fuck,” he muttered as he shoved his sword through the head of one monster only to be clubbed by the arm of another.

Geralt fell into the water again, struggling not to be pinned down by one of the monsters’ legs. He used Aard again as soon as he was on his feet, and he tried to get his bearings despite the blow to the head. 

There were five workers now, and Geralt knew he needed to find the warrior in charge, or they’d keep coming. While one was easy enough to kill, dozens were certainly less so.

Using a burst of speed, Geralt cut through three more beasts before sustaining another gash, across his thigh this time. The potions prevented it from slowing him down too much, and he continued to battle the growing numbers.

After several more injuries, even the potions couldn’t keep him moving quickly. It had been centuries since he’d faced a nest this size, and Geralt was not prepared for the magnitude of it. 

“Dad!” Ciri’s voice cut through the shrieks of the creatures, and Geralt’s own grunts. She splashed into the water, sword raised and able to take out a beast with her speed.

“Get out of here,” Geralt ordered, blocking an attack from one monster while dodging another.

“Don’t be foolish,” Yennefer said, using magic to cause another monster to explode.

Geralt cut his way to Yennefer who used a silver dagger to disembowel a beast. 

“Get her to safety. There’s too many,” Geralt told her, fighting back to back with her.

“Shut up. We’re not leaving you to die. That is not how you avoid Ciri’s meddling.”

Geralt huffed, beheading a beast before it could touch Yennefer. Then he made his way toward Ciri who was cutting her way to warrior.

“Stay back,” Geralt told her, but she ignored him.

“You’re too injured to take it alone.”

“I’m still stronger and faster than you,” Geralt argued, cutting down worker and using Igni to kill another. It pulled at the gash down his side, and he had to hold in a groan. When he glanced at Ciri, she was giving him a look that said he wasn’t exactly successful.

“Wouldn’t it be nice to have another strong friend to—”

Geralt laughed as he incinerated another monster. “Another friend to worry about? Or a friend to use as monster bait?” He gritted his teeth as he finally approached the warrior. 

Ciri cut through a worker that tried to protect it. She was efficient with a blade—a proficient pupil every time Geralt trained her. It didn’t make it any easier for him to watch his very human daughter fight monsters that ate grown men for snacks.

Ciri darted away from Geralt, drawing the creature’s attention. She dove under the water as the creature spat venom at her, and Geralt used that moment to attack. He slashed its legs with his silver blade, hacking at it as fast as his aching arms would let him. When Ciri came back up behind the beast, she buried her blade in its abdomen.

Geralt used Igni to keep its attention on him as Ciri danced away from its flailing limbs with nothing but a dagger to protect her. 

The beast flung itself at Geralt, and he quickly thrust his sword through the creature’s head before watching it tumble into the water. 

Yennefer and Ciri finished off the last few workers as Geralt staggered to the corpse of the warrior. He knelt in the water and groped around until he found his blade and freed it from the beast. He shuffled around to do the same with Ciri’s sword.

Holding both weapons, Geralt swayed on his feet. He blinked at the dozens of corpses around him. The potions were holding the worst of his injuries at bay, but his body was worn out and he could hardly keep his feet under him.

“Dad!” Ciri called again as Geralt collapsed in the shallow water.

Geralt was only vaguely aware as Yennefer and Ciri dragged him out of the swamp and back up the mountain to the place they’d agreed to camp. He hardly noticed when he was dumped onto the bed in Yennefer’s tent, still covered in swamp and kikimora guts.


End file.
